


weak

by shepherd



Series: gladnis bingo [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gladnis Bingo, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:48:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25131145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: Reaching the cramped landing he pressed his shoulder against the door to his left. Cindy’s room lay in the centre, Cid’s to the right, and a peek on their first day proved that each were as messy as the last. “Boys,” he called very cautiously. It was better to warm them he was coming but he was loathe to wake them from fitful slumber. “Anyone awake?”There came the softest, slightest shift of bedsheets. A gentle moan met Ignis’ aching heart. “Igs?”
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia/Ignis Scientia
Series: gladnis bingo [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1820422
Comments: 7
Kudos: 41





	weak

**Author's Note:**

> written for gladnis bingo, for the square 'healing'.
> 
> gladnis bingo can be found here: https://socialdegenerate.tumblr.com/post/174943810791/i-made-a-gladnis-fanwork-bingo-chart-for-anyone
> 
> thank you so much to @kidgrayson on twitter (pumpkinsoldier on ao3, check her out!) for being a spare pair of eyes and helping me out big time <3

The rickety, dusty old stairs up from Hammerhead’s garage creaked terribly, groaning underneath Ignis’ weight like some cliché horror movie scene, and he hissed out an annoyed breath. Cupping a hand over the covered plate to stop the spoon rattling against the ceramic, stopping dead, Ignis breathed steadily and only though his nose.

Even in his own silence the world beyond was teeming. Out on the hot tarmac there was a constant low roar of engines rumbling past, raised voices and laughter. Ignis pitied any man who only wanted a bit of peace and quiet amongst the hectic days – today, he was chief amongst them.

Luckily he knew his loved ones would be able to sleep just fine. At this stage they learnt to ignore the daily noises of Hammerhead, the clanging of steel and the smell of Takka’s frying food nothing to them. Endless days of hustle had exhausted them, and the constant humid heat made a good attempt at lulling Ignis to sleep whenever he so much as stopped to take a rare breather. Exhaling very softly, he continued to tread each stair, praying they would not stir. The creaks were softer, shorter, and Ignis took great care to step along the sides to mute his advance.

Reaching the cramped landing he pressed his shoulder against the door to his left. Cindy’s room lay in the centre, Cid’s to the right, and a peek on their first day proved that each were as messy as the last. “Boys,” he called very cautiously. It was better to warm them he was coming but he was loathe to wake them from fitful slumber. “Anyone awake?”

There came the softest, slightest shift of bedsheets. A gentle moan met Ignis’ aching heart. “Igs?”

It was just his luck. With a miserable sigh, the weight of the world slumped completely on each of their shoulders, Ignis stepped inside and drew the door carefully closed behind him. Privacy was a rare gift, at the very least. Still sound drifted through the cracked open window, sheet curtains billowing in the half-hearted breeze. Cid’s spare room had been dusty, piled high with boxes and books. It had clearly been his tinkering space, Prompto tripping constantly over boxes of rubbish, and Ignis had given his best attempt at clearing a path while Gladio slept soundly. It was all he could do to calm his fraying mind.

They had cracked the window right away to relieve the crushing heat. It had been a trial to fish for blankets and pillows, finding only thin and lifeless spares. It was good enough, they supposed, anything for Gladio’s comfort. But Ignis could never contentedly settle for that. Gladio deserved only the absolute best, and it killed him that he couldn’t provide it.

Ignis had left them only for the hour to make it as right as he could, ducking back in to check on them frequently, and none of them had so much as stirred. Each of them were in a deep sleep, unable to be shaken awake. But it appeared that he had been wrong.

“How are you feeling,” he asked carefully, looking between each of them. In the time he had been gone the dust had hardly settled. Prompto still lay curled upon the beat-up old sofa in the corner, back awkwardly bowed and legs hanging over the edge. Ignis had tousled his hair and removed the mechanics magazine from his chest, draping his jacket across him. Then he had cared for Noctis, their prince that lay ungracefully slumped across the bed. Small hands still knotted in the blankets. Together they breathed silently, steadily, expressions lax in slumber. Nests of hair were mussed beyond redemption. Ignis combed through Noctis’ and pet the pinch of his brows away.

Gladio lay still. He knew better than to attempt moving. “Fine,” he lied, the truth written all over his throbbing temple. “You should have woken me up when you left.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis replied and sat by Gladio’s thighs. The blankets pooled there; a candy wrapper had been left abandoned. All along the tight formation of Gladio’s stomach his pale bandages were exposed, thankfully still clean. It would be time to check him over in a mere manner of hours. A difficult job, despite all of Ignis’ patented training – it was a whole other beast, patching up a moaning ‘glaive in the safety of the Citadel and attempting to pull your trembling lover back together again on the field of battle. The sight of Gladio beaten and bloody still made him ache. “You need all the rest you can get.”

In response Gladio grunted and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve been sleeping all damn day.”

“Good,” Ignis told him bluntly. “Are you hungry?”

Gladio peeked cautiously, almost suspiciously at the plate. It had been hours since he had eaten. Ignis was not willing to take no for an answer. “A little.”

“I made you soup – with Takka’s help, mostly, and he spared me some bread. I commandeered his kitchen for the afternoon.”

Interest lit up Gladio’s weary face. “Oh, damn. Love your soup.”

Ignis smiled wistfully and unveiled the bowl. Wisps of steam rose unobscured and the scent of chicken broth filled the room. “I know you do.”

Careful not to rouse the others Ignis shimmied closer. Leaning over he set the plate onto the bedside cabinet, spoon in his hands. The bread was nestled to one side, “Did Noct give you another potion this morning, as requested?”

Gladio’s nostrils flared wide and Ignis knew the answer. Before his irritation could flare and consume them Gladio interrupted, “I can’t keep chugging potions to make it all better, Igs. You know it’s just gonna hurt me in the long run. Prom ran down to get me some painkillers from the store instead, okay?”

Ignis bit back his annoyance. The most infuriating part was that he knew it was true, and he swallowed down what he could. “Very well,” he said stiffly and Gladio could only sigh.

On his way out of Takka’s Ignis had raided the condiment stand. In his shallow pockets he had stuffed however much he could of napkins, another of butter in plastic packets, and he had even thoughtlessly taken a straw. He scattered all of it between them silently and Gladio laughed lightly to relieve the tension. “Thanks, baby.”

“It’s chicken broth and lentil,” Ignis explained, ignoring how hot his ears had become and pressing the spoon into Gladio’s hand. “I expect you to eat all of it.”

With a wry look, Gladio gave no response. But he flipped the spoon in a show of bravado, and he caught the handle – barely. “Thanks, Ig,” he murmured and Ignis gave him a tight smile.

The powerful scent of soup had permeated the air. It was enough to peak Ignis’ interest, despite having only eaten a half hour ago, mindlessly picking at the strawberries Takka had offered. He focused instead on deftly folding Gladio’s blanket and flipping it, letting it fall comfortably upon his lap. Only then did he set the plate down, smiling when he heard Gladio’s deep and appreciative inhale. “Will it be too much for you?”

Gladio shot him a droll look. “I can feed myself.”

On another day Ignis might have bitten back with something witty and cutting. _Years of knowing you filthy lot says otherwise._ Instead he backed down, hackles lowered, and watched Gladio begin to eat.

Immediate calm and satisfaction spread over Gladio’s face even as he managed only one tablespoon. Soup was a comfort food for him like no other. It was Ignis’ pleasure to make it for him and soothe all ills. “Tastes amazing, Iggy,” he said and took another half spoonful.

Sitting down finally felt perfect. After all their rushing around, after all the panic and noise, it was good to have a moment to breath. For a while Ignis simply watched, almost content. As long as he had his boys around him, all in one piece, it was good enough for him.

Ignis touched Gladio’s knee and his fingers traced the bone. For days Gladio had been lethargic and only now was his face full of colour. But still he was easily tired and Gladio slowed down after only a few more mouthfuls and half of a bread roll. His appetite was quartered and Ignis closed his eyes, agonized by painful memories and he asked, “Kiss me.”

Having his eyes closed only made it worse. When he opened them, short of breath without a moments warning, Gladio was giving him a long and appraising look. Then he pulled the spoon away with a pop and descended.

They met halfway without further thought. Gladio’s heavy hand braced Ignis’ nape and their lips brushed together, dry and warm. Gladio kissed him chastely and Ignis only sagged – losing more and more control of himself as Gladio leaned in, Ignis grasped his wide shoulders and traced his desperate tongue along Gladio’s lower lip.

When their tongues met a spark of magic burnt Ignis’ unsuspecting mouth. A powerful energy still clung to Gladio’s gums and teeth. But there was guilt, shame, and regret all mixed up in Ignis’ belly and each hurt as intensely. Potion after potion had been too much for Gladio, in retrospect, but Ignis could not regret his hasty actions in the midst of such terror. Each of them had panicked. The rationality that had been taught to Ignis again and again fled without warning. Bubbling apologies and anxious hands reduced Ignis’ training to nothing more than static behind his dry eyes.

The warmth of Gladio’s blood as Ignis fell to his knees had hollowed him – carved out his famous detachment, his duty, and left naught but pain. It was Noctis who stood strong enough to bring them back here. It was shame and pride intermixed. Crying, heaving, he brought potions to Gladio’s lips. _Please, please,_ he sobbed, and as they hauled Gladio along the graciously short journey to Hammerhead they all had prayed.

And their Gladio had lived. Destined to die another day – upon another field, perhaps, and Ignis was sickeningly dizzy at the thought. But until that cursed day under Ignis’ hands he ran hot, muscles drawn tight, tongue curling sweetly against Ignis’. They pulled away only momentarily, breathless, and seconds later Gladio surged forward again, rattling his cutlery far too loud in the modest room. Magic and chicken broth filled Ignis’ mouth and nose, relieving the pain of wounds that Ignis had thoughtlessly torn into his own lips and cheeks. Flesh knit back together like it had never been ruined and Ignis prayed that his own comfort could take away what pains magic could not.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped when they broke away again. He clasped Gladio’s cheeks too hard, too desperately. “I’m so sorry. I should have – should have been faster. By your side.”

Gladio sought his mouth once again. Hands covered his and the unforgiving temperature only rose, ticking over until Ignis’ face was shockingly red. “Don’t be,” he whispered, lips melding together in short bursts. “You would have done the same in my position – and you had the kiddos to worry about.”

In his conflicted heart Ignis knew it was true. As honest as his need for air, as honest as his uneven pulse. But it hurt like knives, enough for tears to fall. Soon Ignis was softly weeping. “I need you,” he rasped. “Don’t go. Don’t you dare go – not like this. Not now.”

Their foreheads met. Ignis felt disgustingly sweaty all across his straining body, too hot breath panting hard. His shirt stuck to the small of his back. Even so Gladio breathed no word of complaint and loving fingers brushed through Ignis’ hair. “I can’t promise that,” he murmured, somehow so steady.

Ignis envied him. Many thought that Ignis was cool and collected, utterly unflappable. And he was. He could be – until anxiety gripped his heart, dread in his bones as a loved one faltered.

It was instead Gladiolus who stood tallest. As passionately as an Amicitia could love and rage Gladio strove to keep his cool – facing his path head on, with pride. Ignis had yet to see him despair. It shamed him to be staggered so by blood. Gladio faced death and grieved, saw blood and swallowed, but lived always.

Sometimes, Ignis didn’t know how to breathe. Not when frozen stiff by the daunting future and unable to act.

“You have to,” Ignis urged. “You have to promise me, love – promise-”

“Iggy,” Gladio murmured patiently and Ignis remembered himself bit by bit. An open window and hot soup perilous between them, two innocent souls finally slumbering by their side, and still Ignis wept like a child. Utterly pathetic. Ridiculous behaviour from a man grown, and Ignis slumped in his shame.

They had come too close to loss today. It had haunted Ignis ever since, the scraping of bone against the steel of a scythe, and he still shuddered. Gladio’s young face was soft and the bones beneath were so fragile. “Promise me,” he breathed, low as a whisper. It hurt to swallow. “You don’t have to mean it.”

Strong legs shifted beneath borrowed sheets. The bowl was set to one side, barely touched and slowly cooling. Loving arms wrapped cautiously around Ignis’ shoulders. Gladio’s beautiful and vibrant eyes watched, filled with nothing but steady acceptance. It was an agonizing sight.

With a pained sound Ignis careened forth into Gladio’s arms seeking comfort. Gladio only swept back his loose hair with loving gentleness. The bandages were rough beneath Ignis’ skin. “I promise,” he swore and Ignis’ tears soaked them both as he leaned forward, seeking endless kisses, an end to his pain.

Ignis’ breath wobbled and wavered. All of his strength meant nothing. He could bear his own torn flesh but desperately held Gladio together with mortal, trembling hands. Their company could not withstand such a beating forever and Ignis was not used to being weak.

Noctis slept on beside them, blissfully ignorant. Ignis’ hands would lead and encourage him for as long as he needed. It was his sole duty to shape and nurture their to-be king, not throw himself upon his lover and wail, and Ignis swore he would never see Noctis weep again. Ignis could ill-afford doubt, even from himself.

But for now he would cling on, unable to be torn away from the man he cherished. Rarely did Ignis allow his hands to be selfish. Now, of all times, when the hour was dark and the next unknown, Ignis would permit himself some wickedness.

Ignis traced the line of Gladio’s coarse hair. A proud temple became heavy brows, all the way to high cheekbones. Gladio’s strong and prominent nose was beautiful and Ignis’ fingertips paid reverential attention. Lush lips and a broad chin, Gladio’s oiled hair and dark, luscious skin –

Such flawless carved stone the Astral’s breathed life into and ignoring the scratches, the bruises, Ignis could fool himself that such stone could live forever.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! constructive crit and comments always welcome <3


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